With hands shaking and his chest feeling like it was being torn apart, Hunter unfolded the pages that Isabelle's faint had put together again, noting how it was actually his mother's paper, with the same flower symbols on the edges and the pastel color, even though time had corroded the edges, yellowed everything and even whitened the words that were written there in black ink in a handwriting that, he couldn't deny, was Ellen's, without a doubt.With his breath caught in his throat, he hesitated for a moment, his mind spinning as if that seven-year-old boy, the same one who had moved into that house hand in hand with his mother, scared to know that now he would have to learn to be a leader, wanted Hunter to stop. That child begged him to just consider that everything William had said was a lie and that his mother, the woman whose teachings motivated him to be the Alpha he was until now, was not a heartles
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